Rhyme Without Reason

Edgar Allan Poe

Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary
Over many a mystic message, errors I could not ignore—
Soul as dark as looters looting, my PC I thought of shooting.
Damn machine that would, when booting, give me errors I abhor.
No programs, documents, or settings. Just the errors I abhor.
Only this, and nothing more.

Ah, distinctly I remember, something written in assembler
When installed did quick dismember Windows to its very core.
Though the program was not beta, wiped my settings and my data
Oh, you cruel, corrupting fate! A chill that reached me to the core.
Nothing like a bad computer chills me to the very core.
‘Tis the thing I most deplore.

As I sat there, terror-stricken—data gone in Word and Quicken—
In my office strode a chicken—dignified, the air she bore.
Fearing neither sun nor winter, cut or burn or wooden splinter,
Climbed onto my laser printer, four feet high above the floor.
Over paper, plugs, and cables, four feet high above the floor.
Laid an egg and nothing more.

Seeing her, my soul grew higher; smiling, I said “Welcome, fryer,
“There is something I desire. So I’ll ask, so I’ll implore.
“Windows finds in me but error; fills my soul with darkest terror.
“Will I boot up sweet and fair or will my system work no more?
“Oh, my fine and feathered chicken, will my system work once more?
Quote the chicken, “No restore.”

Hearing that, my pulse did quicken, but to listen to a chicken
Would imply a skull that’s thickened to a width not seen before.
Fearing mind of mine would crack up, swearing not to get my hack up,
Cried I “Wait! I have a backup! Back up in my cabinet drawer.”
But my backup was too old. Three years it sat within my cabinet draw.
Quote the chicken, “No restore.”

And the chicken, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting
On that cabled laser printer as her mess grows on my floor.
And her eyes have all the knowing of a monitor that’s glowing
And my chances are not growing that my data I’ll restore.
Not my data nor my Windows nor my pride will I restore.
All is gone forevermore.

Ernest Lawrence Thayer

It looked extremely busy doing Tech Support that day,
With broken links and missing files, CDs that wouldn’t play.
Some called with printers out of ink or errors in their RAM,
In hopes they’d speak to someone who would know and give a damn.

But Tech Support phone answerers were not a knowing lot,
To check things in a database was all that they were taught.
“If Casey just could be here,” they all thought with a groan.
The questions would be answered right with Casey on the phone.

Then from the gladdened multitude went up some joyous yells,
It rumbled in the IBMs, it rattled in the Dells;
It bounced off of the servers with enthusiastic tone.
For Casey, mighty Casey, was advancing to the phone.

Now Casey took a call and got a woman on the line
Who said “It’s all now broken. Yesterday, it worked just fine.
“Your software on your hardware doesn’t work as we had planned.”
But Casey shook his head and said “We don’t support that brand.”

A panicked voice caught Casey’s ear on phone call number two.
The voice cried “There’s no Windows, just white words on screen of blue.”
Casey said “Hold on a moment and all things will work out fine.”
Then with one triumphant gesture he did disconnect the line.

The next call was so simple that it make good Casey smile.
The user had misplaced what was a most important file.
“This problem is so simple,” Casey said with great dispatch,
“Just format your drive C: and install everything from scratch.”

The smile remained on Casey’s lips as he hung up the phone,
For little did he know that for this sin he must atone.
That call was not from any Tom, Dick, Mary, Jack, or Moe,
But the top guy in the company; ’twas Casey’s CEO.

Oh, somewhere tech reps answer phones, tell people what they need,
To help them use computers when the doc they cannot read.
Oh, somewhere folks are helpful, with PCs and Internet.
But Casey isn’t near them. Tech support’s now in Tibet.

Lewis Carroll

‘Twas gator, and the sasser code
Did phish and spoof throughout mydoom.
All kazaa in the toptext mode
And the welchia in bloom.

“Beware the JavaScript, my son,
The pages vile, the Spam so thick.
Beware the netsky bird and shun
The cookies doubleclick.”

He took his Spybot sword in hand.
The bagle foe could not prevail!
So rested he by the PPP
And downloaded his mail.

And, as he stood in phatbot dell,
The JavaScript, with eyes sobig,
Came loading through the DSL
Alexa as a pig!

One, two! One, two! And through and through
With Norton blade, the worm he checked!
Its blaster lost, its cookies tossed,
No more would it infect.

“And has thou slain the JavaScript?
Come to my arms, my boy so fine!
O WiFi day! O plug and play!
We safely go online!”

‘Twas gator, and the sasser code
Did phish and spoof throughout mydoom.
All kazaa in the toptext mode
And the welchia in bloom.

Homer

Sing, goddess, the anger of Pentium’s son Athlon…

Oh, forget it. The Iliad has suffered enough, lately!

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